


a whisper (of wayward silver hair)

by peachxi (peachi3)



Series: fic requests [2]
Category: EXO (Band), NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demons, Dorks in Love, Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Angst, Kim Jongin | Kai-centric, M/M, Magic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, OT7, Polyamory, Taemin is bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachi3/pseuds/peachxi
Summary: a pre-taeyong drabble that's hella domestic inspired by reader prompts/Jongin isn't used to feeling insecure when it comes to love, but he never knows where he stands when it comes to Taemin./
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Lee Taemin, SuperM Ensemble/Everyone
Series: fic requests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919041
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	a whisper (of wayward silver hair)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! 
> 
> It's been a while, but I promise I am working my way through all the prompts you beautiful people left me, and now that uni is over for the year I should be able to get through them much faster in between episodes of Blood Rites (the yuta/sicheng continuation of the series, for those of you who don't know!)
> 
> make sure you hydrate and be kind to yourself ♡
> 
> (title is shamelessly pulled from beloved by mumford and sons bc,,,, c'mon)

Jongin stood up straight and used the damp towel he had thrown around his neck to try and wipe away some of the sweat which was beading on his face. It was the epitome of a hot summer’s day, scorching rays beating down against his exposed back and shoulders relentlessly as he set down the shovel he’d been wielding for the past five hours down against the wooden fence. It was painful, backbreaking work — preparing a field to be sewed, a field which was rife with hard rocks and heavily compacted dirt — but there was something about the work which was rewarding, too. Months from now his efforts would come to fruition and the field would be laden with crops instead of bare dirt, though he wouldn’t be around to see it.

After he’d taken a minute to catch his breath the silver-haired male trudged back up to the house, a small, somewhat rundown homestead which had no doubt been beautiful in its prime. This whole town, albeit small, had a charm to it which had grown on him int the week they’d been staying here. The people here were kind and accomodating and hadn’t taken against some visitors passing through; they’d given them food and shelter in exchange for work, something which they never minded doing. It was how they usually got by, anyway.

“You’ve been working for hours, my boy, come inside from the sun and have some water,” an aged voice crooned from the doorway, beckoning him forward. Jongin smiled at her and used newfound energy to jog up the steps and patio to where she was waiting; he eagerly accepted the pitcher of water she had waiting for him and started taking small sips of the liquid. It felt ice-cold on his throat even though it was probably a little warm, a sharp contrast to the temperature outside. “Thank you again, Kai. You’ve all done so much for me.”

Kai. Even after so many years of the whole world knowing him only as that, other than their group, Jongin still wasn’t quite used to it. It was a name that’d allowed him to survive, that’d allowed him to be someone else, that was associated with strength — yet it never truly felt like his own.

“It’s the least we could do, Aunty Minji,” Jongin insisted as they headed inside. The house, which had been filled with dust and clutter when they’d arrived, not from lack of effort but rather due to the fact that an older woman simply couldn’t maintain a house this size by herself, was now sparkling clean. The door now locked properly and the few windows which had sported damage had been repaired; the fireplace was now cleaned out and ready for winter, and in the small shed adjoining the house was a plentiful supply of firewood to keep her going so that she didn’t have to worry about walking into town as much with her arthritis. “Are the others back yet?”

“Baekhyun and Ten are peeling potatoes as we speak,” she explained they moved through to the front of the house, past the numerous empty rooms and the ones that they’d been staying in. Just one woman all alone in this big house, plagued by the memories of a family she’d once had. A husband who’d come down with typhoid and died years ago, a daughter and grandchild who’d died in childbirth, one son who’d been trampled by a horse and another who’d been coldheartedly killed in a bar fight. All that tragedy, yet somehow she managed to keep smiling.

A fresh shirt was waiting for him in the hall, one of her son’s, likely, which he’d been unsure about at first but had quickly realised that it’d hurt her more if he declined. Minji doted on them all in a way that only a mother could. Jongin had been young when he’d lost his own, but old enough to remember how much he’d loved her. Minji reminded him of her, sometimes — perhaps in the same way Mark seemed to remind her of her youngest son, the one who’d been trampled. He saw the pain in her eyes each time she looked at him yet also the fondness and adoration there.

The front door opened just as they reached the kitchen — it was adjoining — and in walked two sweaty boys with dirt on their clothes but grins on there faces. Lucas and Mark had headed off to run small errands for the day which admittedly shouldn’t have taken as long as they’d been gone, but the bags they were carrying made him think they’d gotten some added bonuses. One thing Jongin stood by was that there was no job not worth taking, something which they’d learnt growing up on the streets. Maybe you’d get a few coins from one, or if someone couldn’t pay some food, other small goods, things which you could trade up and barter with. It was how they’d gotten most of their things.

Behind them was Taemin, expressionless even as he followed them inside. Jongin wasn’t quite sure where the warlock had been for the past two days, but he’d learnt over the past four months that there wasn’t much point in asking unless Taemin started the conversation. The only time he got any sort of answers was when the other let his guard down, which was primarily only after sex. That was still . . . it was something. Jongin didn’t really know where he stood in regards to Taemin, only that he’d grown fond of the other and that he didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

“Aunty, we got everything you asked!” Lucas exclaimed as he set his bag down on the table and adjusted the fabric to reveal his haul which consisted of plenty of fresh vegetables and what looked to be an incredibly fresh load of bread. “And some more, too — the man with the rabbits let us keep all the ones we caught and he gave us a big box of dried meat, too. You should’ve seen Mark, the rabbits were running rings around him—“

“ _Lucas_ ,” Mark all but whined in protest as he set his own satchel down, the one carrying the aforementioned earnings, “c’mon man, that’s not cool. They were really fast, okay?”

“Or maybe your legs were just too short—“

“Boys,” Minji interrupted, fondly but sternly. “Inside voices. Now come on, show me everything you brought home, hmm? I’m sure we’ll be able to make a wonderful meal out of it.”

It felt . . . well, Jongin couldn’t say it felt _normal_ , because his concept of normal was rather skewed, but it felt good, being here. Safe. Minji was incredibly kind and patient and always had them smiling or laughing as they went about helping her prepare dinner, each of them delegated certain tasks; even Taemin had been roped into making stew without any complaint. The kitchen was filled with playful banter throughout the whole night, even once they’d settled down at the table to eat the spoils of their efforts.

Given the fact that there were a number of empty rooms in the house, they hadn’t been stuck for choice those who’d wanted to room alone had been granted that option. Of course, only Taemin had accepted. Mark had wanted to room with him and Ten had followed suit with Lucas and Baekhyun crashing in one of the other rooms, which was how they’d kept it until tonight — tonight Jongin found himself lingering after they’d all cleaned up and began to trickle away to their respective rooms, his head ducked down as he finished wiping up the last few plates and set them aside for Taemin to put away. Every few moments he’d steal a glance, pulse hammering.

When Taemin reached for the last one his hand twitched on impulse and he grazed their pinkies together, throat bobbing as he finally dared to turn his gaze towards the older male. It was so hard, not knowing where they stood. Taemin never gave anything away, and Jongin . . . he was too scared to be the first one to admit the extent of how deep this ran for him. The warlock had a way of affecting him that was unique just to him and quite different to how he felt around the others; all of it equally potent, though.

“Have I got something on my face?” The other asked innocently as he set down the last plate. Jongin couldn’t bring himself to answer for a few moments as his heart pounded. There was a short silence between them before he shook his head and moved to avert his gaze again, but he was stopped by a firm hand on his jaw and warm, damp breath washing over his face as Taemin leant in until their lips were barely an inch apart; he would’ve closed the gap if not for the fact that Jongin had recognised the intent in his eyes and stopped him a gentle palm to his chest.

He couldn’t blame him for looking confused. Jongin was, too. All he’d wanted was the other’s attention and, now that he seemed to have it, it just didn’t feel . . . right. “Can I stay the night with you, hyung?” The silver-haired male murmured, barely above a whisper as his eyelashes fluttered. Taemin never stuck around afterwards. Usually, he was gone by the time that Jongin stirred, sometimes after a few hours of rest, and sometimes he’d simply get back up and put his clothes on. Jongin was the sort of man who tended to get a little tired after an orgasm — especially if it was Taemin who was providing said orgasms, given that the other fed on them — and he could never force himself to stay awake for too long if the sun had already gone down. It felt too much like a transaction, and whilst he’d been fine with that at first, he didn’t want that now. He wanted . . . he just wanted _Taemin_. The real one, the one he’d been privileged enough to get small glimpses at.

“Are you that worried I’ll tire you out?” Taemin mused as he trailed fingers down over his throat and elicited a wave of goosebumps in his wake.

“I’m not really in the mood tonight.” It felt like he was admitting to a heinous crime. “I just . . . I’d like you to kiss me for a while,” he mumbled as he ever so gently ghosted their lips together. Jongin was more nervous _now_ than he’d ever been picking up a weapon. “I just wanna be with you tonight. Is that okay?”

The longer the silence spread between them, the harder Jongin’s heart pounded in his chest, that anxiety starting as a heavy pit in his stomach and starting to spread up through his chest like acid. Shit, he’d gone too far, hadn’t he? Asked too much? He could practically _feel_ the awkwardness in the air and the way Taemin seemed troubled by his sentimental little requests and now Jongin was feeling more than a little sick and _gods_ , why couldn’t he have just kept his big mouth shut instead of acting like some sort of clingy child—

“Of course, Nini,” Taemin finally answered. His voice was so incredibly soft, far more tender than Jongin had ever heard him before, and the sweet little kisses planted on his lips and then forehead made his heart melt. “Let's get you into bed, hmm? You’ve had a big day.”

Jongin’s shoulders had been weighed down by responsibility ever since he’d been a child. His days _before_ had been full of naivety and carefree fun even if he’d thought his compulsory lessons were torture, but afterwards he’d instinctively found himself taking Mark on as his responsibility. That was how it’d always been. Then there was Ten, then Lucas — for a long, long time, he was the oldest one in their little troupe, the one that everyone looked to for guidance and relied on when things got tough. It’d gotten a little easier when Baekhyun had come along, but they were close enough in age that the dynamic between them was more filled with playful bickering than coddling. Taemin sure as hell didn’t seem like the sort to excel in reassurance, but Jongin did know that he had to care about them in his own way, even if he couldn’t quite understand it. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

He was used to having to read between the lines of small, seemingly insignificant gestures; Taemin had never cared for him so openly before. Frankly, Jongin couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been . . . well, _babied_. That was the only word he could really think of to describe the gentleness in which Taemin handled him with as they got ready for bed. Small butterfly kisses were trailed over his shoulders as he removed his shirt, fingers laced into his own as they moved towards the bed and settled down under the sheets together, dark eyes focused on him with a softness he wasn’t used to but found himself quickly becoming addicted to.

The prince wasn’t a stranger to the fact that Taemin struggled with physical contact, which was why each little touch meant so much. The elder seemed utterly relaxed in the way he had his arms wrapped around him and face buried into his hair as Jongin wiggled into a comfortable position that left his head pillowed on the other’s chest. Cuddling felt like such a childish word, but that’s what it was. Taemin had never cuddled him before. Slender fingers trailed up and down his spine in slow, aimless patterns that had his eyes lulling before he knew it.

“Hyung?” He murmured, small and quiet.

“Mm?”

“Night.” Jongin almost thought that he felt the other smile into his hair before he drifted off.

The first thing he registered when he woke up was that, for the first time since this thing between them had started to blossom, Taemin was still in bed behind him. Jongin only had a half-second to be elated over that before he registered the second thing, which was that he could hear voices outside, some of them hushed and others much louder, not all of them friendly. Even from inside he could feel that something wasn’t right. He reluctantly wiggled out from the other’s arms no matter how much he wished he could’ve stayed in them and fumbled to find his shirt so that he could put it back over his head; once he had one arm free it jostled Taemin awake with a groan. The elder had already been incredibly perceptive, though, and he seemed to pick up on the situation very quickly.

There was no time for any sort of hesitation. Taemin lingered two or two steps behind once he was haphazardly dressed to knock on doors and get everyone stirring as Jongin kept forward and headed towards the front door as quietly as he could. Once he got close the silver-haired male crouched down and edged himself forward so he could sidle up to the wall and try to get a better listen on what was happening. The front door was ever so slightly ajar and whilst there was no way he’d be able to look through the doorway without being seen, he could get a small view through the seam. From where he was Jongin could make out a few figured — Minji was closest to him, standing just off the front porch with her head ducked down and body language closed off as she spoke with her guests. He could see two men, one which was presumably the leader, but he could hear a few more horses that he couldn’t see which let him know there was probably at least another five or six people out there. Anyone could look at these people and know that they were bandits of some sort.

“—usually not here for another month, Strike, I don’t have enough.”

“You have enough to hire help for the farm though?” One of the men drawled in a tone that Jongin did not like one bit. Besides, who the fuck named themselves _Strike_? It’d be hard to take the man seriously if not for the fact that he had a heavy axe at his side that he wasn’t liking the look of. How low did you have to be to intimidate and extort an older woman who could do nothing to defend herself?

In a way,Jongin couldn’t say he was surprised. Perhaps once upon a time, there would’ve been patrols that reached these border towns, the small, out of the way ones which straddled the border between what’d once been his father’s kingdom and the rebel states, large stretches land which passed between small leaders and warlords. These days it was all too easy for smaller groups of bandits to prey on the people that had no protection by setting up heavy taxes in exchange for _their_ protection. That was bad enough, but what was even worse was the fact that their protection was the exact opposite — they wouldn’t look after these people, they were just being paid not to decimate them.

This was the exact sort of thing which drove him mad.

Jongin’s teeth ground together painfully as he readied himself to walk out. He could hear movement behind him, but . . . no, it wouldn’t be a good idea for all of them to come out together. These people, more often than not, weren’t very brave, nor smart — if all of them walked out then it’d mean an immediate fight. It’d be better if he started alone and made it seem like he was outnumbered.

Weapons were drawn as he stumbled out onto the porch, rubbing his eyes as though he’d just woken up and his body language lax, unthreatening, but at least no one ran at him. “What’s wrong, Aunty?”

“Jongin,” she instantly half-hissed as she whipped her face around to stare at him. There was surprise, there, but also a scolding look that he tried to ignore. She wouldn’t approve, sure, but that wasn’t his priority right now. “Go back inside.”

“No no, let him stay,” the bandit insisted with a sneer, stepping forward in what was probably an attempt to intimidate him. “Maybe he can make up what you owe—“

“You’ll get your damn money, but you won’t be getting it now, and you sure as hell won’t be getting it from him.” Well, there was that sharpness he’d grown so fond of.

The man stepped forward with his hand raised up and nostrils flaring, but before his hand could even get within a foot of her Jongin stepped forward and snatched his wrist in an iron grip; that masquerade of oblivious sleepiness was gone in a blink, replaced by ice-cold eyes and furious rage. How _dare_ he? “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he half-growled even as the other reached for one of the blades on his belt and his minions moved forward.

The air came alive. Minji was quickly pulled back inside by Mark, out of harm's way, and the _moment_ she was safe Jongin sent the man flying with a foot to his chest and snatched the axe from his side as he did so. It was only in his hand for a split second before it was flying through the air towards one of the other men who was rushing forward, knocking him backwards with a wet _thud_ that had blood flying everywhere. Jongin dropped down to a squat to duck the blade that swung overhead and used his momentum to drive the legs out from under his attacker before he had been up again without any reprieve, dancing away from another blade. There was movement behind him before a whistling in the air resulted in one of them falling to the ground with a small blade embedded in his eye.

Jongin wasn’t armed, but that didn’t stop him from launching forward at the nearest enemy — a larger, hulking figure who seemed to rely solely on brawn. Slow, too, far too slow for him. His neck gave an unnatural crack as his head was twisted beyond the capabilities of the human body and Jongin pulled back. Before he had a chance to blink he was roughly shouldered out of the way and a small hiss reached his ears as he tried to steady himself before he fell, just barely managing to do so before he reached the ground.

When he managed to turn back around he was treated by the sight of Taemin standing with his head angled down, an arrow sticking through his side and blood seeping through the material of his shirt that he dabbed at with his fingers. “This is taking too long.” To anyone else, he’d seem unbothered but Jongin could hear that slight edge to his voice. He was . . . he felt rooted in place, staring at the arrow in shock. The surviving bandits had started to advance but, with a single flick of Taemin’s wrist, the wind picked up and they all dropped to the ground with frantic, choking gargles as blood spewed from their mouths and eyes in viscous waves.

Jongin knew that took _a lot_ of energy. His limbs finally seemed to come back online as he found himself darting forward to steady Taemin as he stumbled ever so slightly, features paler than usual.

He . . . Taemin had taken an arrow for him. For _him_. The warlock had helped them in skirmishes in the past and offered protection when they needed it, but Jongin could say for sure that he’d never done anything like this. “Hyung—“

“You need to be more careful,” Taemin hissed under his breath as he gently brushed off Jongin’s aid and set his palm firmly around the base of the arrow. They were always tricky to get out considering their design but Taemin barely even flinched as he tugged it out of his abdomen with a sharp, quick motion before chucking it off to the side. “You’re just human and healing isn’t my forte — I can only do so much.” An arrow like that would leave Jongin out of commission for a week at least, but Taemin was barely even limping as he walked towards the house and brushed off the worried fawning.

Just human. It was never easy to figure out what Taemin truly meant but Jongin had known him long enough to have some semblance of an idea how to decipher them, and whilst there was a small part of him which truly couldn’t fathom it, the scolding wasn’t out of anger, not really. Taemin made it sound like he cared.

Somehow, between all of them, they managed to bully the warlock just a little into sitting down so they could get a better look at his injury; Jongin had seen him heal from things almost instantly before but, when he thought about, that had always been when he’d been much more lively and had likely fed, off him or them or some stranger (because he hadn’t deluded himself into thinking he was special, not at first). Taemin had seemed more lethargic as of late and, other than last night when nothing of the sort had happened, he hadn’t been around to interact with them much. Jongin doubted he’d fed even if he couldn’t fathom why he hadn’t.

Once Ten had pushed some of his own magic into the elder and decided it was enough to begin replenishing all the energy he’d just expended, Jongin slipped into the room and let the door click closed behind him. He set the small medical kit down on the edge of the bed so that he could crawl up to where Taemin was reclining against the headboard, thighs bracketing the elder’s knees. “I’ll be more careful, Min — I promise,” he reassured quietly. Taemin just stared into his eyes for a few long moments before huffing and offering a small nod in response.

Taemin was like a stone statue as Jongin cleaned the wound and bandaged it up but his body betrayed him, the muscles in his chest and abdomen contracting and flinching under each touch, jumping whenever Jongin brought him pain — pain he tried to minimise as best he could. “Should I seal it?”

“You want to sew me up? You have pretty hands, Jongin, but you’d probably skewer me — it’ll close on its own,” Taemin murmured in a quiet tone as he watched him work. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” Jongin pointed out as he raised his gaze and pulled the elder’s shirt down carefully by the hem. “You didn’t have to take an arrow for me, either.”

Taemin was silent for a few moments after that. Jongin could see that barely perceivable twitch in his brows that often meant he was deep in thought and found himself shifting forward despite himself to caress the warlocks cheek with the pads of his fingers.=

“I . . . I was worried about where it’d land. You humans are so fragile, it takes nothing to kill you these days.”

“It’d take a little more than an arrow, though, for you to be rid of me,” the silver-haired prince whispered as he grazed their lips together. “Thank you.” Another small kiss to the side of Taemin’s mouth. “I’ll try not to be so rash when it comes to things like that, I just . . .”

“You take care of your own,” Taemin finished in his own words as he wrapped firm arms around his waist to pull him closer and pressed their foreheads together. “I admire that about you — I suppose that you’ve been rubbing off on me a little.” The implication of it — that he was Taemin’s — had him struggling to fight back a smile.

“Maybe. I better try a bit harder when you’re feeling better, just to be sure.” Taemin laughed softly at that with a warm spark in his eyes.

Jongin knew that he was nothing more than a human who’d somehow been fortunate enough to catch his fancy, but . . . he hoped that it’d be a long, long time before Taemin grew tired of him. Of them.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I don't have a beta, so apologies for any mistakes!
> 
> I hope you have a wonderful day ♡


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